


red water in the lake

by orphan_account



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Death, Childhood Trauma, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Developing Friendships, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends, Horror, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Murder, Recovery, Roleswap, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23648674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Contrary to what one may think, it's easier to hide five small things than one big thing.(Henry dies. Michael makes a mistake. Charlie gets involved.)[Deleting AO3/Relocating to FFnet/FanfictionOnline]
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i know there's probably all sorts of stuff i've messed up with the timeline but i've only played the first 4 + pizza sim. take it easy if scott gets to play calvinball with the timeline then so do i
> 
> update: seeing some recent Things, i want to remind you all to read my profile before giving me kudos. this is a strictly no-creep zone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the prologue is the only chapter with graphic depictions of abuse/child death, as a lot of it is groundwork for later events. while it's not portrayed in a positive or endorsing manner, i also totally understand that it could be very triggering to others, so just know that you can technically skip the prologue!

_Michael's 10th birthday party had been at Fredbear's Family Diner, of course._

_Popularity among children aside, his father had been one of the founders, and so it felt that all of Michael's birthdays had taken place in the now-dark dining hall. Balloons still bobbed at the tables, which glittered with confetti and tablecloths that sat askew, some covered in paper plates and smears of frosting. Michael's presents were stacked neatly on the stage, unwrapped but not yet opened. While most of them were toys and action figures, a few folded shirts and even a game cartridge sat on top, all piled into a cardboard box. The only gift not in the pile was Michael's favorite- a pair of sturdy black boots that laced up above his ankles. He knew that they were from his dad's coworker and friend Henry Emily, because he had asked Henry specifically for boots like the ones the technicians wore. He often told others that he wanted to be more like Henry when he grew up- tall, strong, and good with machines._

_As much fun as Fredbear and Bonnie were, he enjoyed having the stage to himself after hours. If he was wearing his sneakers, he would be allowed to run back and forth on the hard wood, sometimes twirling himself dizzy as he ruffled his hair, the shoulder-length waves catching between his fingers. With the boots, however, his dad said that they would scuff the stage, and so he would have to sit politely or play elsewhere while he finished some work in the backstage office. He also couldn't open any of the action figures or new toys, since his dad didn't want to clean up any more trash in the morning. Instead, Michael dangled his legs off the edge of the stage and swung his feet contently, humming to himself. He technically couldn't play it, yet, but he figured that he could at least read the packaging of the new game. He fished it from the box, and was instantly bored by the rambling about warranties. He flipped it to the front instead, and studied the picture on the cover._

_He was in the process of tracing a finger through the maze, occasionally pausing to dodge the bright orange dragon, when he heard a voice raise from behind the curtains._

_"William, calm down! I'm not accusing you of anything, I just want to get things clear so that-"_

_"Henry, I simply don't see where the issue is. You and I have known each other since college, and I've babysat her for you multiple times. I don't understand how this is any different."_

_Michael frowned. He had never heard Mr. Emily raise his voice at anyone. He was a tall, broad man, sure, but he was also gentle and warm, with big arms that seemed ready to sweep the world into a hug at any moment. He'd especially never imagined Henry shouting at William, who was practically his brother. They were so close that Michael even sometimes told the kids at school that Henry was his uncle, and a good amount of his peers believed him. He set the game down, and tested the boots- sure enough, if he was careful with his steps, they were as quiet as a whisper on the wood panel. They didn't squeak like his sneakers did as he crept towards the large concrete wall, and rested his ear against the cool steel of the door to the backstage repair room._

_"You know that this room doesn't have any cameras. I trust you, but father to father, you can understand why it would seem suspicious for you to lead her back here," Henry elaborated._

_"She told me that she was feeling unwell, and I figured she would want to be away from the other children._

_"And you didn't come directly to me, instead? Just tell me, was someone following her? Was there anyone acting strangely?"_

_"Why, if I didn't know better, I would think that you were implying that I had malicious intent for your daughter."_

_The air hung heavy, before Henry choked out, "I still have all of my children, William. I would like to keep it that way."_

_"You take that back, you son of a-"_

_A dull thud followed that was unlike anything Michael had ever heard. The closest he could associate it with was when he carved pumpkins last week, and had dropped one of them on the floor. Almost immediately afterwards was a second thud, this one Michael was much more familiar with; he had actually heard it earlier when he tripped over his shoelaces and had the wind knocked out of him when he hit the floor._

_There was a small pause. William bit out a quiet swear before swinging the door open, nearly knocking Michael over in the process._

_"Michael? How long were you standing there?"_

_"Dad, is Mister Emily still there? I wanted to say thanks for the boots," he lied. He stood on his tiptoes and peered behind William. "Mister Emily?"_

_He only got to see the briefest of glimpses, but what he saw made his blood run cold. Henry was face down on the floor, head tucked into the bend of his arm and looking as if he were sleeping, were it not for the puddle of blood beginning to pool around his head. Above him loomed Fredbear, jaw missing and chest cavity open and hollow.  
_

_"There's been an accident, Michael." William firmly pressed a hand against his right shoulder, pushing him back in place. "Do you remember how to call an ambulance? Listen, you can not enter that room. You need to call 911. Mister Emily has been hurt."_

_"But-" Michael froze. The hand that had been on his shoulder pulled away, leaving a smear of red on his shirt.  
_

_"Henry will die if you do not do as I say, Michael. Go!" William slammed the door, leaving Michael to his own devices._

_He knew that there was a phone in the security office, but it was all the way across the building; if Henry was hurt as badly as his father implied, then he didn't want to leave him alone for even a second.  
_

_"Dad?" No response.  
_

_Michael ran through the empty party room, towards the office.  
_

* * *

"What, are you scared of it or something?"

At 14 years old, Michael was taller, stronger, and angrier. He did things like sneak to the skate park when his dad said he was grounded, and cut his own hair with dollar-store scissors in the bathroom at school. He was considered the bravest one of his friend group, too; he delighted in horror movies that they balked at, and got into fights with kids nearly a whole head taller than himself. It seemed like there was nothing in the world that could get under his skin.

However, as he entered the pizzeria with his friends, he had always followed a quiet, hidden routine- he would stand perfectly still in the doorway and check the stage. If Bonnie was there, he would only give a slight pause, but if Fredbear was there...

And sure enough, Fredbear was standing front and center on the stage. Michael stared into the animatronic's bright green eyes, and felt his palms go sweaty. He could practically smell the rust and hear ambulance sirens as the bear raised his arm to give a friendly wave, and he felt like his throat was closing.

He wanted to say something witty, or even tell the truth- _Of course I'm fucking terrified, it killed my uncle._ He could even pull the newspaper clippings off of his walls, show them the small memorial backstage, pointing at the small framed photograph that he couldn't bring himself to look at for too long. He didn't even know his friend's names yet, let alone if they would still want to hang out if they knew he was afraid of Fredbear.

Instead, he awkwardly mumbled, "Nah, I just fucking hate that bear." This earned a laugh from the rest of the group, and with a playful slap to his back, they rushed the dining hall. The guard at the door raised a hand to stop them, but was halted with a quick "My dad said we could come in!" from Michael. He leapt gracefully over the barricade, with the guard scoffing and opening the gate before the other teens could cause any further damage.

"Hey, you said today was your brother's birthday, right?" One of his friends, the one in the green sweater that was rolled up to the elbows and tucked into her black jeans, met his pace. Loose, dark curls surrounded her round face, and colorful braces decorated her wide grin. She pointed to a corner of the dining hall that was cluttered with streamers and banners, where a waiter was tying several bundles of balloons to chairs. "Why don't we make it _extra_ special?" Michael led the way as they all slid into one of the corner booths near the back of the dining hall, where they had long since carved their initials along the edge of the table.

"I don't know," the one in the red jumpsuit hummed. His pale face was smattered with a patchy flush, and his black hair was growing out messily from a recent shave- Michael could still see the near-bald patches near his ears where he had poorly attempted an undercut. "I mean, the last time we did anything, Mike's dad yelled at us. No clue why; I mean, it's not like he can't sew that stupid bear's head back on!" Michael gave a small, bitter chuckle. Sure, it had been a little meaner than their other jokes, but tossing the teddy bear back and forth while crowing threats of decapitation had gotten the best reaction out of all of their stunts.

"At least you only got yelled at," the boy in the blue tee shirt sighed, tossing grimy, mousy bangs out of his eyes. "My mom found out about it and I got in huge trouble. I'm not even supposed to be here!"

"Okay, but are _any_ of us supposed to be here?" Michael joked. Green Sweater rolled her eyes, and fidgeted with a small locket. She had worn it for as long as Michael had known her, and she often slid it up and down the thin gold chain when she was worried.

"Duh, of course not! Speaking of which- Michael, your dad works here? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Red Jumpsuit and Blue Shirt paused, before Blue Shirt guffawed. "No way, she doesn't know!"

"She's still new, give her a break!"

Michael awkwardly shifted in place as the two mockingly laughed. Green Sweater raised a brow, more confused than hurt.

"His dad _made_ this place! He even made the robots himself!" Blue Shirt finally explained.

"Yeah, him and some other dude. The other guy died backstage a few years back, though, and now people say the place is haunted." Red Jumpsuit made a face and mimicked Fredbear's jerky dance before raising his hands in claws and letting out a sarcastic 'boo!'.

"Can you cut it out?" They all turned in surprise to see Michael, worrying the wrists of his jacket. "His name was Henry. I... I actually knew him." Red Jumpsuit scoffed.

"Don't be such a baby, Mike, you know I was only joking." They dropped the topic anyways, as their attention focused to the jingle of the front door opening. "Look, the birthday boy is coming in now!"

Casey Afton may have been Michael's younger brother, but the two couldn't look any less related. Casey was small and timid, with neatly-combed blonde hair, and a light dusting of freckles scattering across his face. While Michael was also short for his age, there was a clear strength underlying his softness, and he couldn't name the last time his hair had been 'neat' by any definition. The only sign of their relation was in their eyes; Michael's left eye (a pale hazel, with his right being an icy blue) was an almost perfect copy of Casey's eyes, and by extension, his mother's.

Casey either ignored or didn't notice Michael as he took his father's hand, using the other to hug a well-loved Fredbear doll to his chest. Michael, in turn, closely watched as the guard at the door clasped a green wristband onto William and Casey's right wrists. He reveled in the small surge of pride that came with being the undeniable leader of his group as he gave a sharp snap, signaling his friends' attentions.

"Come on, let's leave him alone for a little bit. I have an idea." The three others leaned in eagerly.

"He loves Fredbear, but he's terrified of Bonnie," Michael explained. A devious grin spread across his face, which was soon mirrored by his friends. "All we have to do is wait for Bonnie to go onstage, and then drag him up there! He'll never want to come to a Fredbear's ever again! Hell, he'll probably cry every time we drive past one!"

"Do you know the stage schedule?" Green Sweater asked. Michael waved dismissively.

"I've literally _been_ on that stage," he said. "This place is basically a second home for me."

He slapped the table decisively, only to be met with the sound of a throat being cleared. All four turned to see William, standing patiently and waiting for Michael to stop talking.

"Michael, a moment?" He gave a worried glance to his friends, but rose and followed his father. Michael trailed him past the dining hall, soaking in the way a scattered handful of employees froze and stared in recognition. A few of the parents even took note of William's sharp suit, the crisp plaid a stark contrast to the generic polo and khakis that the other associates donned. Past the small kitchen, where the floor was slightly slippery from spilled (and subsequently cleaned) drinks, towards a small hallway hidden to the right of the stage. William unlocked the door, pausing only to allow Michael to bashfully duck in.

"Take a seat." He gestured to a small wooden chair, allowing himself to take a higher, swiveling chair decked in leather.

"Don't you have anything more comfortable?" He gave a cheeky, desperate grin.

"This is not the time for jokes. Sit."

As they sat down, William let out a sigh of disappointment.

"Michael. Look at me. In the eyes." He shuffled nervously, but forced himself to meet William's gaze. He felt like William knew that he was looking at the rim of his reading glasses in favor of true eye contact, but if he noticed, he didn't say anything. "I need your word. I know that you and your friends like teasing Casey, but just for today. Just for _once_ , let him have something."

"Come on, dad, you know we're just playing around-"

"He cried himself to sleep last night. He's afraid to leave his room. Do you know what we had to do to get him to come to his own birthday party?" He paused to give room for Michael to answer, only to receive a nonchalant shrug in return. "We told him you wouldn't be here. He saw you on his way in and refused to go near the dining hall until I walked with him." Michael sat in stunned silence. "I know how you feel, Michael. I know Henry's death took a lot from you." A hand reached out to rest on his right shoulder, and Michael could feel himself begin to shake. "Just because you lost your childhood doesn't mean you have to take Casey's."

"I'm not- I didn't-"

"Michael." William's expression twitched, from sorrow to deep frustration. "If you know what's good for you and your friends, you'll make them leave. You'll have them go somewhere else to cause trouble. I don't care what you do, just so long as it doesn't intrude on today's party."

He swallowed. "Yes, sir." A smile spread across William's face, and the firm grip on Michael's shoulder turned into a friendly pat.

"Good! If you can behave yourself, you're welcome to join us for cake." As Michael got up to leave, William called out, "One more thing."

"Yes?"

"That night, with Henry... What did you see?"

He took a deep breath. "Nothing, dad."

"I'm sorry? Could you repeat that?"

"Nothing, _father_."

"Thank you. You may leave. I have stage arrangements to take care of, and then I will be out with you." Michael didn't answer as he closed the door.

When he headed to the table, all three of his friends' heads shot up, and Green Sweater even stood to gently rest her hand on his arm. "Mike? What did he say to you?"

"You all need to leave," Michael weakly answered.

"Dude, what? How are you going to handle the plan?"

"I'm calling it off. Please believe me, you have to go. My dad's kicking you all out, and if you don't leave-" His voice cracked, and shame burned in his chest as tears welled in his eyes.

"Hey, it's okay, don't cry! Is it about your brother?" Green Sweater raised her sleeve to wipe his tears away as he nodded. "If that's the case, then I guess we can leave for the day. We can just do the plan some other time, right?" For once, Michael felt a sick twist of guilt in his chest at the mention of scaring his younger brother.

"Yeah! Don't worry Mike, we'll step out for today. You can trust us." Blue Shirt turned to Red Jumpsuit, and whispered something. Michael reflexively snapped to get their attention.

"I'm being serious, don't do _anything_. You can come back tomorrow, just... leave him alone."

"Okay," Green Sweater promised, and gestured for the other two to follow her to the exit.

"Bye, Mike! I'll see you tomorrow!" Red Jumpsuit loudly declared, and as the three left, Michael could see the security guard at the door let out an exhausted sigh before shooting him a pointed glare.

"I'm proud of you." He turned to see William, this time with a gentle smile on his face. "Come on, then, let's go to the party."

As far as birthdays went, it was pretty standard. Clusters of balloons had been tied to each chair, and a small cake already missing several pieces was resting at the center of the table. Michael had arrived just in time for the final gift to be opened- a new teddy of Fredbear. It's fur gleamed a warm golden, making the already-apparent dinginess of its senior apparent. Still, Casey beamed as he quietly sounded out the letters on the label.

"I figured you would want a new one," one of his peers chimed in. Her pink dress with its ruffles rivaled the pastels of the cakes and candies, and her neat blonde braids were wrapped off with bright red bows. "Now you can get rid of that ratty old one!"

Michael flinched, before leaning in to whisper, "Do all of his friends act like that?" William, expressionless as he observed the scene, did not respond.

To Michael's irritation, it seemed that nearly _all_ of the gifts were related to the animatronic bear in some shape or form, and the time for the children to run and play couldn't have come fast enough. He was nursing a slice of cake when he saw Casey finally get up, preparing to join the others.

"Hey, Casey, you got a second?" The small child looked up, and for a moment, Michael saw fear shoot across his face.

"Yeah?"

He reached down and playfully ruffled his brother's hair, noting with guilt how Casey flinched. "I'm sorry for being such a jerk. For your birthday, I'm going to tell my friends to be nicer to you. Do you think we could hang out some more after this?"

Casey stared in both shock and delight, before returning a wide smile. "It's okay! Dad says you were only being mean because you were upset about Uncle Henry."

"I... You remember Uncle Henry?"

"Not really, but dad talks about him a lot." He made his new teddy bear do a small dance with the old one as he continued. "He says that you liked Henry better than him, too." Michael felt his blood run cold as he looked up, and saw William staring at the both of them, still unreadable. "Do you know what else he says?"

"I-"

"He says you're very brave." Michael stood in stunned silence, glancing from Casey to William. "He says that you did a very good job not telling anybody what happened to Henry. He said that Henry got in an accident, but he wouldn't tell me what kind!" He gave a small pout of frustration, and as Michael made eye contact once more with William, his father gave a sly grin in return. He felt shaky and distant as he turned back to Casey.

"Thank you, Casey. For telling me all of that." He patted him on the back, gesturing towards the ball pit, where two children were throwing balls at each other and screaming with joy. "Why don't you go play with your friends?"

"I don't have friends, Michael. Dad says those are just my classmates." Casey ran anyways, grinning brightly as he sat on the edge of the pit and went back to playing pretend with his bears. Once Michael was sure Casey couldn't hear him, he turned sharply to to the table where William sat alone.

"You have no right to-"

"To what? To tell Casey about how you handled grief? Or to tell him about Henry? You heard what he said, Michael; I wouldn't tell him what you know. He asked so many times, but I never told him." Michael set his jaw, but nodded in defeat. "You look tired. If you want, you can go get your headphones from the car." He tossed the keys to Michael, who scrambled in an attempt to catch them.

Many things happened as Michael Afton walked to the parking lot, where his dad's old convertible waited. He did not see the group of teens, clad in animal masks, slink through the parking lot and into the back of the building where the window to the kitchen was cracked- just large enough for a teen to slide through. As he set the headphones over his ears, he did not see Casey raise his head at the sound of a whistle, or see a girl in a green sweater and a bear mask wave to him. As he rummaged through his cassettes to pick something to calm his nerves, he did not see the two children go backstage, and as he reentered, he did not see the other two masked teenagers- one a chicken, one a rabbit- duck behind the stage.

Instead, what he saw was a plastic fox mask- shoved hastily through the cracked backseat window, resting right next to his schoolbag.

He raced inside to see the curtains close several minutes earlier than they should have with a loud, abnormal snap rather than their traditional smooth glide. Several parents' heads raised in confusion, and one or two children began demanding that Fredbear return to the stage.

"What's going on-"

"Michael!" Green Sweater met his pace, holding his upper arms as if to preemptively calm him. Her mask had been pushed upwards to reveal the tears that streaked down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, I tried to talk them out of it and- they're backstage, they got a manual from the office. They're going to try to go through with the original plan."

Michael clenched his fists. "So what's with the mask, then?" He yanked it off of her head, and shoved it back into her hands. "You were going to do it too!"

"They said they were just going to scare him like usual, nothing big. I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have helped them get back there if I knew." He ducked beside her to race to the stage's side door.

"Hey assholes!" he screamed as he reached the top of the stage, "What do you think you're doing?"

His voice cracking at the yell was the least of his concerns- Red Jumpsuit was holding Casey up to Fredbear's mouth, unbothered by the child's attempts to kick at his arms and chest. Blue Shirt, who had been manning the controls, rolled the chair away from the control panel. "Mike, we-"

He shoved Blue Shirt out of the chair, and blindly swung a fist for good measure. "Get out of here! Both of you!" While Blue Shirt scrambled away to handle his now-bleeding nose, Red Jumpsuit only looked up, eyes wide with terror.

"Dude, I think he's stuck." Red Jumpsuit gestured to Casey, who Michael could now see was trapped in Fredbear's maw from the shoulders up. "I don't know how to get him out without hurting him. You said your dad built these guys, right? How do you get his mouth open?"

Michael froze. He knew exactly how to open Fredbear's face plate, but to do so, he had to go up close to the animatronic and press the sides of his jaw; he couldn't do it from the console itself. He wanted to run to the curtains and shout for his dad, for anyone, to come help him. He knew that if Casey had to support his own weight, even if he sat perfectly still, it would only be seconds before the springlocks popped. And if that happened...

He tasted iron in his mouth. "Just... Just keep holding him!" His legs refused to move. His hands flew to his hair, and frantically tugged as his thoughts raced. He had to think of _something_.

"Michael, I can't-"

"Mike!" Both teens were paralyzed by Casey's cry. "Mike, you liar," he shouted through tears, "You said they were going to be nice to me!"

"I'm sorry," Michael managed to choke out. "I'm sorry!"

There was a bang on the door, and in a panic, the worst case scenario was realized. Red Jumpsuit let go of Casey to try and open the door.

"Casey, you gotta sit still!" he pleaded.

"Mike, please, help-" he managed to beg, before the distinct 'pop' of a springlock coming loose rang throughout the room.

As if broken from a trance, Michael finally darted forward. He wasn't fast enough.

Michael numbly reached out to Fredbear, the once-overwhelming panic that would have come with doing so now muffled by shock. He was vaguely aware of how his hands drifted to the sides of the bear's jaw, and pressed down. _All you had to do was press two little buttons to save his life_ , he wanted to scream, _and you didn't._ As Casey slid loose and fell to the floor, Michael picked him up and held him in his arms. _He's so, so small_ , was Michael's only thought. _You could have held him. You could have saved him.  
_

The door to the backstage finally clicked open. As Red Jumpsuit darted out of the room, Michael slumped to his knees, still cradling Casey.

"Michael, what's all this-" He heard footsteps run to his side, and felt desperate hands snatch Casey from his arms. "Give me my son!"

For a few moments, Michael could hear the ruffle of clothing as William checked Casey for any signs of life. "What did you do? Michael, what did you do?" He was pulled by his shirt to stand, and once he was upright, he felt a fist slam against his face, the impact knocking him back to the ground. "I told you not to, and- and you-." William's breathing came in desperate, furious gasps. "Was making him afraid not enough? Was taking everything from him not enough?" Michael covered his ears, shaking his head. He didn't know what he was even saying 'no' to.

"Answer me, Michael! _Answer me!_ "

* * *

Michael had only seen the repair room once before, and it was the tiny glimpse he had seen when Henry died. To actually be in the room was what he imagined being on death row would have felt like. He sat in a rickety chair on one side of the work bench, the table itself having been long since swept clean of its animatronics and manuals by the police. He had been rendered nonverbal since the afternoon before, relying on Green Sweater to talk to the officers for him, and the very idea of speaking again made him feel ill.

William sat across from him, hands neatly folded. His face was still red and tearstained, and his jacket was missing, but he held himself as if he were preparing to drum up a business deal.

"Well," he began, pausing only once to wipe his eyes. "It's been ruled an accident, and no charges are going to be pressed. But Michael... He'll be under continuous home care. You've essentially killed your younger brother. You beat him, you made him afraid in his own home, and now he will die slowly. Outside of a miracle, he won't even be allowed to say goodbye."

"I'm sorry-"

"I didn't ask you if you were sorry. In fact, for a very long time, I will not be asking you anything. Instead, I am _telling_ you." When he was certain that Michael would not interrupt, he continued. "As you are 14, and can do certain tasks, you will get a job with the future company." Noting the look of surprise on his face, he added, "Not as a technician- you'll start out running the counter or washing dishes. Then, when you turn 15, I'll let you start working the door. Then, when you turn 18, you will train to become a technician, just like you always wanted." White-knuckled grip on the desk, William hissed through gritted teeth, "And then, do you know what you will do?"

Michael shook his head 'no'.

"I will make you sit down. I will make you take apart and put back together every piece of that damn bear. And I will make you tell me exactly which parts went into your brother's head and neck to kill him. And _then_ you will be allowed to apologize to me." Michael's shoulders shuddered as sobs wracked through his body. "Until that day, you are not my son. You are not to call yourself my son. You are not to tell anyone that you even _know_ me." William slumped back into his seat and took a deep breath to recompose himself. "Listen, Michael. I'm not a monster. I will still provide anything that I deem a necessity, and you may keep your room and everything in it." As he slid a stack of papers, a contract, across the table, he ordered, "Say 'thank you', Michael."

Michael sniffled, but said nothing. William leaned across the desk, hand hovering to take the contract back.

"Michael, if you don't thank me, I can always retract my offer. I'm sure you could find somewhere else to go." Choking twice before managing to say the words, Michael finally spoke.

"Thank you, father."

"I'm sorry?"

Michael looked up in a daze, confusion clouding his eyes.

"I told you that you are no longer my son. Do my employees call me father?"

"No, da-. No, Mr. Afton."

"Excellent. It's been a pleasant interview. I will let you know as soon as the position is available at our new location."


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: references to self harm/a suicide attempt, but the overall tone is positive/from a place of recovery
> 
> *edited 7/5/20 for grammar and to correct some mixups!*

The skate park was empty, just as Michael had anticipated- not only was it nearing midnight, but the frigid November air had chased away any other potential guests. Tucked under his left arm was his trusty skateboard, with its painting of the desert landscape and the vinyl around the nose duct taped where it had began to peel. He shrugged off his heavy denim jacket onto the nearest park bench, and took a final, steadying breath as he mounted the board for the first time since spring.

The basic maneuvers came back to him easily, and he spent most of his time simply riding around, even getting bold enough to close his eyes and stretch out his arms, feeling the cold air as it flowed between his fingers. Doing his breathing exercises in the dark felt even more satisfying, pretending that he was exhaling his negative thoughts into the heavy plumes that trailed behind him, catching gold in the lamppost's glow. Despite the chill, it only took a few minutes for sweat to start rolling down his back, which he took as a cue to attempt a small heel flip. He missed the landing, and the board slipped out from under his feet. He winced as he fell back, and watched the board finally stop when the toe of a rugged black sneaker nudged it to a halt.

"Mike? Is that you?"

Green Sweater, who was now wearing a cream-colored sweater made of chunky braids of yarn, stood under the light. Her curls had grown a little past her shoulders, and even in the poor lighting, he could see her dark eyes widen in surprise. She quickened her pace as she approached, her shock visibly giving way to relief once she was able to confirm that it was indeed Michael. She tugged him into a standing position as she continued.

"It's been so long, where have you been? After the party you stopped showing up at school, and- Geez, do you not have a coat?" She ran her gloved hands down his bare arms before cupping his hands and giving them a gentle squeeze in an attempt to warm him.

"It's over on the bench, I took it off to skate."

"To skate? Mike, it's almost 30 degrees out here!"

Michael tensed under her gaze. As she went to let go of his hands, he could feel her eyes halt at the two broad, puckered scars nestled in the crux of both of his elbows, coupled with the countless others scattered along his arms. She dropped his hands, embarrassed.

"Oh. God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to-"

He forced an awkward laugh. The warmth that had come with the physical activity had long since faded, giving the cold air time to sink into his bones, and he shivered.

"For what? It's not your fault. Besides, it finally got me some help." She didn't seem to find the situation as amusing, and as he retrieved his jacket from the bench, she sat next to him.

"Therapy, I'm guessing? Is it doing anything for you?"

"Not really. Mr. Aft- my dad insists on listening in on every appointment, so I can't even talk about anything that's actually bothering me without him trying to play 20 Questions afterwards."

"Well, I know that I'm no shrink, but you can always talk to me. In fact, if you want to meet up again, I walk here every Friday. Mom doesn't like me being alone, so having a friend with me might make her feel better." Michael felt a small pang of nostalgia as she yet again pulled out the same small locket, the 'zip' of it sliding up and down the chain echoing on the night air.

"Thanks, er- I never caught your name."

"Seriously, Michael? We've known each other for almost a year, and you didn't know my name?" Her playful smile betrayed her harsh tone.

"To be fair, there was a lot going on." She laughed at this, and he noted with a slight disappointment that the colorful bands of her braces had been replaced by plain blue. He was trying to recall just how often they changed the bands on braces when her voice broke through his thoughts.

"It's Charlie."

He paused. "I'm sorry?"

"Charlie? Technically it's short for Charlotte, but-"

"No, I got that. I'm sorry, it's just- It's a long story. Nothing important." They sat in content silence for a few moments, before Charlie broke the calm.

"Are you coming back to school anytime soon? Everybody's wondering where you went."

Michael didn't know how to respond. "Well, my dad's not exactly going to send me off for a lobotomy. Makes bad press." Charlie rolled her eyes.

"I'm being serious, Mike. There's rumors going around that _you_ were the one that killed your brother."

He felt bile in the back of his throat. "Please don't talk about Casey, not yet. I- I don't know when I'll be back in school, if I go back at all. If you have to tell them anything, tell them I'm being homeschooled." He didn't look back at Charlie, but he could hear the _zip-zip-zip_ of her locket. It finally stopped as a warm hand wrapped around his, and he resisted the urge to pull away from the contact.

"I promise, I'll tell them just that. I only wanted to make sure that you were... you know, still around."

"Don't worry about that, Charlie. I'm sure I'll be here for a long time." He could feel her relief from where he was sitting, and as she leaned back to look up at the night sky, he followed her lead.

"You know, Daddy used to tell me about the constellations. His favorite was always the Ursa Major- though that's a given. He always liked anything to do with bears." She gestured towards the Big Dipper, a smile starting to return to her face. "You can barely see the stars out here, but there was a camping spot just outside of town that he'd take me to, and we would both just spend all night looking up at the sky." The rest of her words went hazy as Michael started to drift off to sleep.

He jerked awake to Charlie nudging at his shoulder. "Mike, you're falling asleep. Do you want me to walk you home?" Charlie herself looked like she was on the verge of passing out, shifting from side to side to keep herself awake.

He stood and stretched, feeling his sleepiness fade. "I think I'll be fine. You?"

She considered. "As much as my mom worries about me being out here by myself, I think she'd be even more concerned about a boy walking me home at almost..." She checked her watch. "Three in the morning." They both laughed awkwardly, before Charlie pulled her hand away from Michael's and added, "Just to be clear, it's not like that-"

"Oh, thank goodness! I don't even like girls. I mean-"

Charlie laughed even harder, this time with Michael tensing and burying his face in his hands. A comforting pat on his shoulder made him raise his head from his palms.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone at school about that either. You're safe with me." He felt his shoulders relax, and he turned to properly face her.

"Thank you for everything, Charlie. I think this is the happiest I've been since... You know." He tucked his hands in his pockets. "See you again next Friday?"

"Before then, if you want." Charlie pointed to the street sign across the road, where a circle of identical houses looped in a cul-de-sac. "I live in the red one on the end, the one with all the pots on the porch. If you need anything at all, feel free to drop by." She tossed her arms around his shoulders and gave him a tight hug. "I'll see you later!" Before he could answer she was already running off.

Even through the haze of exhaustion, he saw a quick flash of gold catch his eye, flicking away from Charlie and into the frosted grass.

"Hey, Charlie! Wait up!" He stopped himself from outright shouting, remembering the late hour. As he chased in her steps, he finally realized what she'd dropped: her locket, the clasp broken. He glanced from the necklace to her porch, where she had already entered her house and would most likely be sneaking to her room. Did she have an upstairs or downstairs room?, he wondered. He finally decided that she probably had one of those cool attic rooms where all of the posters were stapled to the ceiling and her mom let her paint the walls.

Back to the task at hand. He felt only the slightest trace of guilt as he thumbed open the locket, confirming his suspicions.

Michael didn't recognize the woman in the small, faded photograph, but he could see aspects of her in Charlie. They had the same tawny skin and high cheekbones, and their noses crinkled the same way when they smiled. The man to the right of her, however, was far more identical to his daughter, with the same long dark hair, deep honey eyes, and rounded face.

It was Henry Emily.

Michael nearly dropped the locket as emotions washed over him. He could practically hear the timbre in Henry's voice as he recalled the man wishing him a happy birthday, showing him how to lace up the boots so that the long laces wouldn't graze against the ground as he walked. They were still in the back of his closet, he recalled, ragged and nearly falling apart. He had outgrown the boots nearly months after getting them, but he could never bring himself to throw them away.

He tucked the locket into the pocket of his jacket. He knew logically that he could put it in the mailbox or slide it under the door, but something urged him to wait until later, when he could give it to her in person. He kept his hands in his pocket to clutch to the small trinket, practically running through the streets as he made his way to his house, only aware that snow had started to fall when he felt it begin to pool in his socks. He stole one last moment to appreciate the softly drifting flakes- of course they wouldn't stick to the ground, and even if they did, the sunrise would no doubt melt the meager snowfall before he could see it. With a small sigh, he finally unlocked the front door, making sure to open it slowly so that it wouldn't creak.

The kitchen and living room were dark and silent. There were no dishes in the sink, but the moonlight illuminated a few scattered bottles had been tossed into the recycle bin, making Michael's heart drop. Despite his best efforts to remain quiet, the moment he locked the door, a small, tense breath come from the couch. He stood perfectly still.

Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could make out the distinct shape of William, once-asleep on the couch and still in his business attire. "Michael?" The bleary voice echoed slightly off the walls.

He shuddered. "Go back to sleep, Mr. Afton." William furrowed his brow, and as he pulled himself to sit up, Michael tried to slink away from him to his bedroom.

"Cut the shit, Michael. Where have you been?" A disappointed frown tugged at his mouth. "You have school? No, work- You have work in the morning, and you've been sneaking out?"

"Listen, I don't want to do this tonight." Michael continued down the hall.

"Wait a second... you called me Mr. Afton." The sense of accomplishment in William's voice was palpable. "We're at home, and you still called me Mr. Afton. I'll give you one thing, Michael, and that's that you learn quickly." Anger welled up in Michael's chest, making his throat clench.

"You're drunk, and we're both tired. Just... Just go to bed. Please." The silence that followed meant that William had either fallen back asleep, or was satisfied with Michael's discomfort. Either way, the house was still enough for Michael to hear his door click shut. 

Practically living in his room had left it a small, cluttered area. His laundry still sat unfolded on the floor, save for the work clothes that sat on his dresser next to the small television. There was a desk just under the window, with his schoolwork and backpack still sitting where it had been left nearly six months ago. The closet door was opened to reveal empty coat hangers and cardboard boxes full of things he had left outside of his room, passively-aggressively boxed up and placed there by William. The main focus of the room was a massive corkboard over the desk, small pages ripped from music magazines alongside photographs from his childhood. Several bare patches showed where photographs of Casey had been ripped down, some torn to shreds, some shoved under his bed.

He gave the corkboard a final glare before he kicked his shoes off into a corner, and barely managed to take his jacket off before climbing under the black comforter.

He flipped the pillow twice before giving an exhausted groan. Despite his sleepiness, it didn't look like he'd be resting anytime soon. He flicked on the lamp on his nightstand and draped an arm off the bed to fish the locket out of his coat. In the quiet of his room, he popped it open, and felt tears spring to his eyes as he took a proper look at the picture of Henry. The smile, the joyous wave, the way he seemed to be captured at his happiest, only for it all to be taken away ten short years afterwards.

"It's not fair, Henry." He clutched the trinket to his chest. "He took everything away from both of us. I may have deserved it, but you didn't."

He fell asleep with the locket in hand.

* * *

Stepping into Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria was always disorienting for Michael, and the lack of sleep didn't help. Many aspects from the old location, such as the main lobby and the party rooms, had carried over, but then spiraled into dozens of other closets and work stations, leaving him accidentally stumbling into a broom closet that he remembered being a restroom on more than one occasion.

The kitchen being in the same place was a comfort at least, and as he stepped into his place at the sink, he rolled his sleeves up, preparing to work. The routine of dipping the pH strip into the dishwasher's drain relaxed his nerves, and as he dropped a cleaning tablet into the main basin, he had almost completely forgotten the night's events. He had started up an empty load to rinse the dishwasher out, when a voice called above the noise.

"Um, Mike?" He turned to see who had called him. P, the manager, waited in the doorway. Tall, lanky, and awkward, Michael had always felt a bit sorry for the guy- even though they were just shy of ten years apart, P somehow seemed simultaneously far older and less mature than the other managers, his knowledge of the business industry clashing with the way his voice cracked and stammered through training tapes and voicemails alike. He held a clipboard in his hands, and his short, black hair had been ruffled out of his face. "I just received a call from Mr. Afton, and it looks like you've been approved to work door security. I'll be training you today, actually!"

Michael frowned. "Mr. Afton never told me anything about changing positions." He followed P anyways, hanging his apron on the hook as he followed him down the hall to the dining area.

"Truth be told, I think it may have been something of a-a last minute decision? It's not any surprise to me, though- You've excelled faster than any other employee I've trained!" P paused and snapped as something else came to mind. "Oh, I almost forgot! Happy late birthday! I would have done something, but, um, I just learned today that your birthday was yesterday. Boy, it feels like you've been here for so long." His ID bracelet clinked against the clipboard as he held it up to read. "Anyways. So, it looks like there's been a few other adjustments made to the security position, probably after what happened to those poor kids."

"Kids?" Michael froze. "I thought there was just the one accident with Mr. Afton's son."

"Oh, gosh." P studied the empty dining hall, the doors not yet open. "Listen, I-I'm not supposed to bring this up because there's still an... investigation. Don't tell Mr. Afton that I told you, okay? But there's been other incidents. So far they've all just been missing, so there's no telling what went wrong, if anything, but. I think he mentioned four, maybe a fifth?"

"Five?" Michael stared incredulously. "That's... that's a lot of kids." P nodded.

"And that's why we've added extra security measures! While any loss is tragic, hopefully we can keep it at five, and maybe even reduce that number as we continue searching for and potentially find the missing kids." Michael tried to not put too much stock into how P's voice had gradually shifted into the voice that he used for angry customers. "On top of hiring a nighttime security guard, we've also got these new guys!" They both paused at the stage, and Michael gazed up with slight discomfort at the aforementioned "new guys".

Made of what seemed to be a lightweight resin topped with flocking, a series of brand new animatronics with rosy cheeks and bright eyes beamed down at them. At the lead was a bright blue rabbit with a red guitar, dressed in a glittering black tailcoat with padded shoulders, and black and white striped trousers overlaid by a dazzling white overskirt. Behind them to their left was a rotund brown bear with a microphone, clad in traditional ringleader's garb in shimmering purples, complete with a deep brown and gold pinstriped vest. To the rabbit's right was a hen donning workout gear, her bright pink leotard paired with vivid orange leggings, fluorescent green sweatbands, and intricate pink eyeshadow. Offstage, in an alcove styled to look like a crow's nest, was a white fox with pink ears. She was dressed in a knee-length gown of dramatic cream ruffles, with a bright red pirate's coat over her shoulders. She held a plastic cutlass aloft triumphantly, and the gleam in her golden eyes made Michael tense.

"Not to be rude, P, but how are new attractions going to keep the children safe?"

"They're not just here to entertain- they're also hidden cameras." He motioned for Michael to take a closer look at the fox's eye, and Michael could see the aperture of a camera lens concealed in her pupil. "Wherever the kids go, they follow. And they _watch_. We've even had them linked to a-a criminal database, so if anyone comes in that means to do harm, the animatronics will be on the case."

"Wait, so they roam? As in, they leave the stage?" As frightened as he was at the idea of wandering bots, Michael couldn't help but be amazed by the technology that must have been needed to power the new animatronics. "That's incredible."

P nodded. "There's two more that you'll see throughout your shift, one solely at the prize counter. Of course, along with that, you and your team will play an important part. You'll be manning the front door with the wristbands, which now have sensor tags on them. You don't have to worry about the gate, that's for- you know, the security guard in the back office. If we ever get time, I'd love to introduce you two!"

The lobby to the new Fazbear's location was massive compared to the previous location, due to the improved security booth stationed beside the entry. It was similar to a movie theater's ticket booth, or a bank teller's desk, minus the large pane of glass that would divide the customers from the guard. The actual desk itself was also lower than the wall, meaning that a cash register, a touch-operated monitor, a telephone, and a locked box were concealed from the customer's sight. P logged onto the computer, and the box automatically popped open, revealing neat stacks of lime green and hot pink plastic bracelets, similar to what Michael had seen at water parks.

"So, whenever you come in for your shift, I'll have to log in first. After I've signed in, you'll punch in your numbers, just like you were going to operate the cash register. You, uh, haven't shared your password with anybody, right?" Michael shook his head 'no', to which P breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I- You wouldn't believe some of our employees. We found out yesterday that a guy had shared his password with his girlfriend to try and get her in for free. Isn't that crazy? Anyways." As Michael studied the bracelets, P picked up the phone, and raised a finger to gesture that he was about to make a phone call.

"Hello, hello? Yes, Officer Clay, this is P from Fazbear's, store number 27. I'm getting ready to do ah-a demonstration for a new hire. I'll stay on the line until the demo is complete." He then gestured towards the door, placing one hand over the receiver. "Michael, I want you to take one of those bracelets, and try to leave the store." 

Michael clasped the bracelet around his wrist, and headed towards the exit. The moment his feet hit the entrance mat, a loud alarm began to screech over the intercom, and a click let Michael know that the front door had been locked. His hands immediately flew to his ears, and he scrunched his eyes shut.

"Thank you, Officer Clay! You can disable the alarm." On cue, the alarms stopped, and as P hung up the phone, he noticed Michael still covering his ears. "Hey- is everything alright?"

He nodded. "Too much noise, not enough warning. Tell me next time something is going to be that loud?"

"That's right! Oh gosh, I'm sorry Michael, I forgot, otherwise I would have warned you. Just as a heads up, that alarm will go off any time an unchecked bracelet passes through the door. Whenever a kid goes to leave, it's imperative that you scan their bracelet. If you forget even once, it's immediate termination of employment. The only way that alarm's going to be disabled is if the police station gives the clear, or if Mr. Afton himself is in the security office, so you can imagine it's serious business." He held a hand out. "Let me see the wristband?"

Once Michael held his arm out, P swiped his wristband over a small black panel on the counter, which in turn gave a soft 'beep'. "When you hear that beep, you know it's been scanned. Like I said, the RFID tag is basically like what they have in libraries, except ours are programmed like an on-off switch. You scan it, it turns off. The bracelet itself comes off with wear and tear, just like other locations, though ours are a bit tougher so that they can't easily be trimmed off with scissors." Before Michael could speak, P interrupted, "And if you're worried about any old random person coming in here and disabling bracelets, don't worry- the scanner won't even operate until you've logged in at the security counter. As long as we all do our part, everything should be as safe as possible."

Michael gave a dramatic, false sigh of sorrow. "So no more rowdy teens sneaking in and getting into trouble?"

P laughed. "You say that like you're disappointed!" He paused, before studying Michael closer. "Wait, are you implying that you were once one of those so-called rowdy teens?" Michael cocked an eyebrow, and P snorted.

"You, trouble? Never! You've always been a good kid, Michael. Anyways, um. I think that's all for training." He flicked through the clipboard, checking his notes. "Everything starts up in about 10 minutes, did you need a drink or anything before we started opening?"

"I'll grab something if I need it," Michael assured him, and P frowned.

"I don't think you understand how serious this position is. You can't leave this station during your shift, no matter what. Security is, uh, a pretty big deal! You can flag me down if you need anything, but I'll be pretty busy with the other guard's training. If you need anything now, I guess you can go get it yourself, but once you come back, you're stuck here."

Michael paused, considering this. "Yeah, you're right. I should probably stay here anyways. Do you mind grabbing me a bottle of water?"

"Sure thing, buddy." Michael smiled as P lightly tapped at the counter, gathering his thoughts. "I'll check in here and there to make sure you're doing alright, okay? Just, uh, flag down one of the staff if you need to ask me anything."

Once he was sure that P was out of sight, he sighed, and reached into his pocket to check the necklace. He knew that despite P's promises, there was no such thing as 'termination of employment' for him- if he got fired from this location, he couldn't even imagine what his father would do to him before sending him off to some other Fazbear's. As much as he would love to hop over the counter and run for Charlie's house the moment his shift ended, she lived over an hour away from the pizzeria, tops. There was only one other solution that he could think of, and it unfortunately involved William.

"Here's your water!" P interrupted Michael's thoughts, setting the bottle on the counter. "Jeremy should be unlocking the door for you in a bit. Like I said, all door stuff gets handled by office guards. If you see anything suspicious, just dial '1' on the phone and it'll directly put you through to him, so he can check the cameras. And hey," he said, tone softening, "You'll do fine. You've been a natural so far, and I don't see this being any different." Michael felt himself loosen at the assurance.

"Thanks, P. I'll try to not let my bad-boy ways cloud my judgement," he joked.

"Anyways, remember to check those tags!" P cautioned. "I'd hate to see you lose your job!"


	3. Chapter 2

_Charlie opened her eyes. She was in the dining hall.  
_

_The air was abnormally cold, and through the haze of the heavy fog that poured in through the windows and obscured the ceiling, she could see small flecks of snow dancing in the multicolored lights. The stage was totally empty save for a massive white gift wrapped with a red ribbon, illuminated by a single white spotlight. She had the distinct feeling that it was hers- or that something in it wanted her to let it out.  
_

_She took a step towards the stage, only to freeze when she heard the racing 'tap' of children's dress shoes running past her. She couldn't see the child, but the fog parted as if someone had darted through it, path clearing to give a glimpse of what seemed to be the flickering of a candle in the distance. Laughter resounded from another corner of the room, and a long line of streamers was ripped from the wall, flying wildly through the air. The more she observed, the more signs of life she saw- small clouds where invisible hands swatted playfully at the falling snow, quiet and indistinguishable chatter in the distance, and even small tugs at her jacket. Despite the widespread activity throughout the room, she never once saw a trace of another child.  
_

_Then, as quickly as it had arrived, the energetic activity around her stopped- the children's laughter was replaced with hushed whispers and then silence, the streamers fluttered to the ground, and the only motion left was the slight rustling of tablecloths, as if they had all hidden under the tables. She couldn't shake the feeling that the children that weren't there were hiding from something, but she couldn't see any signs of danger._

_Back to the box, then._

_She took one step towards the stage, then another, close enough now to where she could see the box rattling, as if something inside was trying to escape. Close enough to where she could pull herself onto the stage if she wanted to, and..._

_With a 'pop', the first of the seven central stage lights suddenly exploded with a shower of sparks. Charlie fell to her knees and covered her head to avoid the falling embers as it was followed by the others- orange, then yellow, all through the rainbow, until the only color illuminating the room was a deep, almost piercing purple that forced her to squint. The acrid smell of burnt light bulbs stung her sinuses as she felt a hand grab her shoulder._

_"Charlie, is everything alright?"_

_She stood and turned to face the source of the voice. It was William, eyes sunken and cruel in the unnatural lighting, his normally-practiced smile seeming more like a snarl. A heavy sense of deja vu crept in as she noted that he also seemed much younger, lacking his crow's feet and laughter lines.  
_

_"You look unwell! Here, come with me. You can have a bit of water and a rest, and I'll let Henry know that I'm taking you home."  
_

_Her heart dropped. Of course this would seem familiar- it was Michael's birthday._

_She took a step back. "I don't want to go with you. I know what you're planning."_

_His eyes locked with hers, but this time, she met his glare with steely determination. S_ _he could hear the sound of a music box winding from the stage behind her as she continued. "I'm going to scream. Daddy is going to come here, and_ he's _going to take me home- not you."_

_"That is correct." Try as she might, Charlie couldn't maintain her gaze into William's cold blue eyes. The music box's tune raced to betray the frantic pounding of her heart.  
_

_"...But if I don't go with you, he'll come back later tonight, and you'll kill him instead."_

_"That is also correct, Charlotte."_

_She felt dizzy, and a sharp stab of pain ran up her jaw as she clenched her teeth. "Don't you dare call me Charlotte. Only Daddy gets to call me that."_

_If William heard her, he didn't acknowledge her. "You know how things will end if you follow me. No matter what you do here, you can't save him."  
_

_"Things could be different this time. This is my dream, right?"_

_"Of course."_

_When she looked back up, they were at the backstage repair room's door. William entered the room, and Charlie followed._

Charlie awoke with a gasp, throat hoarse. While she was no longer in Fredbear's Family Diner, she was also certainly not in her room. Instead, the chill from the concrete stairs leading to the garage seeped through her socks, and her hand was holding the doorknob as if to open it. She was standing in the stairwell leading to what was once her father's workshop.

She took a moment to collect herself and evaluate her surroundings. The lights in the kitchen were still turned off, meaning that her sleepwalking had either been dismissed by her mother, or that she had slept through the whole incident. Considering that sleepwalking had been a near-nightly occurrence since her father's death, neither option particularly upset Charlie. She knew that her mother could only wake up so many times to the sound of her pacing the hallways in her sleep.

It was, however, the first time that Charlie had walked all the way to the garage door. After Henry's death, despite the fact that the workshop was unlocked and that her mother frequently retrieved her gardening supplies and power tools from the workshop, Charlie still couldn't bring herself to face her father's creations that undoubtedly lingered there- a more business-minded individual would have sold the remaining scraps, but Charlie's mother had been too sentimental to do so.

Still, Charlie couldn't shake the feeling that the slight alteration to her otherwise-recurring dream had meant something more. With only a moment's hesitation, she opened the door. 

The workshop was like any other traditional garage, with the walls lined with shelving and mounts for tools, paint cans, and standard gardening equipment. However, these lingered among oddities like ceramic eyes, piles of foam and fake fur, and large metal bars. The space where a car may have gone was occupied by two long, wide tables, one covered in motherboards, soldering equipment, blueprints, and even a welding kit; the other had a sewing machine, a variety of brushes and combs, and a large tangle of wiring strewn about. Most eerie of all was the silhouettes of tarps draped over various partially-finished animatronics, which leaned against the furthest wall like cartoonish ghosts. Charlie tried not to stare at the uncovered glimpses of paws and ears as she fumbled in the dark for the light switch. The buzzing of fluorescent light bulbs was a relief as the lights finally came on.

With the room properly illuminated, she could see that the blueprints were accompanied by a camera, resting on top of three other photographs. She frowned and tiptoed to the table.

The first picture was normal enough, a family picture from one of her birthdays. Lorraine and Henry sat smiling at one end of their kitchen table, holding hands as Charlie eagerly held up a large box of plastic building blocks. To Charlie's right sat a young boy, identical in both age and appearance, save for his hair, which was shaved into a neat fade. He also grinned brightly, and was helping Charlie hoist the toy set into the air.

She smiled, despite the tears that welled. Sure, Sammy was still fast asleep in his own bed, but it had been years since they had insisted on sharing a party, let alone a present. How long had it been since she'd even talked to him, beyond the casual chatter of roommates? If she showed him the picture, would he even feel the same pinch of nostalgia, or would he nod vaguely over his glasses, as usual?

Charlie had to take a moment to recompose herself, still wiping her eyes when she finally moved to the next picture in the stack. It was a photograph from the same birthday, this one showing the Afton family. William and his wife stood like statues, poised and cold, with William's hand gripping the shoulder of a young Michael. The only one in the photograph that seemed to be genuinely happy was Michael's sister, Elizabeth.

Charlie had only met Elizabeth a handful of times, but she remembered her being summed up best as 'vibrant'. She wore a pink dress in the photograph, and was twirling in excitement, blonde pigtails trailing on the air as the red bow that had been clipped onto her bangs flew off. One of Michael's hands were stretched to grab at her shoulder, as if trying to pull her back into frame. The more Charlie looked at the picture, the more William's smile seemed almost like a mask, and the way he held Michael in place began to make her feel claustrophobic. She made a point to turn the photograph facedown as she braced herself for the third picture, this one far older; the edges were worn and soft, almost like wet cardboard.

It was not of any people, but of an animatronic that she had never seen before. She knew that her father had gone through an experimental period before starting work on Fredbear's, but the poor condition of the yellowed image meant that it was most likely from his early college years, predating even his work with William. The animatronic in the photograph was more realistically proportioned, with small and dark eyes, and teeth that gleamed white against the nearly-black insides of his maw. He was perched on a log in front of a lake, claws holding a cast fishing rod. The uncanny setting, on top of the animatronic's strange appearance, made a strange sense of dread settle in Charlie's chest.

It was a large alligator, wearing coveralls and a fishing hat. Charlie had never even heard her father mention any alligator characters, and if it even had the traditional endoskeleton, it had most likely been scrapped and repurposed for one of the other creations, if not outright thrown away. When she went to flip the photograph over, she saw Henry's small, neat handwriting on the back: _OMC, designed by H. Emily, 1967._ She gave it one last glance before setting it aside, sitting back and taking a deep breath.

While the picture of the alligator was a total mystery to her, the other two photographs made perfect sense- they had been taken about half a year before Michael's 10th birthday party. Which meant...

Charlie lifted the camera as if to take a picture, only to nearly drop it when her finger grazed the metal button- it was painfully cold, almost like the camera had been dunked in ice water. She rushed to set it down, eyeing it as if it were a dangerous animal rather than a piece of equipment. She lightly prodded the button after a few seconds, this time not feeling a trace of the previous chill, and when she checked her hands for possible chemical burns from some unnamed cleaner, she found none. After a few more seconds of staring, Charlie finally recovered the courage to pick it up again, and this time, popped open the film compartment. She was less than surprised to see one last roll of undeveloped film still sitting inside. It, as well as the other two photographs, were tucked into her pocket.

She quietly returned the camera to its original location before heading back to her room, the blue glow of the rising sun pouring through the kitchen window. She would have to work quickly.

* * *

The last Friday night of every month at 10:00PM, P would sit patiently by the phone and wait for the corporate-appointed weekly meeting. While most assistant managers would talk to someone marginally higher in ranks than themselves, with most of the conversations being as simple as a request for more cups or less messes, P instead had to deal with the intimidation of talking to _his_ manager- the franchise owner himself. Add the power imbalance to the struggle of masking his frustrations and William's tendency to be late to the calls, and it was nearly enough to make him drop his cheerful facade, rant about the frankly disgusting conditions, and quit the job entirely. 

But a business degree was expensive, carbamazepine even more so, and he had yet to find another position in the small town that could provide the funds he needed.

Therefore, when the phone rang at 10:25PM, instead of pointing out William's extreme tardiness, P instead put on his most chipper voice and answered the phone as if he wasn't exhausted from the abnormally high Friday night traffic.

"Hello, Mr. Afton!"

"Good evening, P! How have things been?"

"Smooth as usual!" He lightly tapped the tip of his pen against the list on the clipboard, before elaborating. "I took note of your suggestion to change up the decor a bit, and I swapped out the streamers for foil banners, as well as setting up the seasonal posters."

"I'll come by and check them in the morning. Did you finish up the paperwork for that scrap parts request as well?"

"Absolutely! I hope you don't mind, but um, I filled out the request for one other animatronic as well. It's a really old model, so budget shouldn't be a problem, but-"

"Let me guess, you ordered what's left of that ridiculous fox?" P winced.

"I figured that if we fixed him up, it could be a nostalgia thing, for- um, for some of the older guests. You know, Foxy was exclusive to coastal branches so not many people got to-"

"I don't need a lecture on the history of something I invented, P. I knew you would order the damn thing the moment I saw it myself," William interrupted. "It's perfectly fine. If it winds up being a net loss, I'll just cut it from the part timers' holiday bonuses."

P tried to ignore the small pit of guilt in his chest. "Sure thing! Trust me, Mr. Afton, once he's up and running again, he'll be a hit."

"I'm sure he will be." Seeming eager to change the subject, William asked, "How has Michael's training come along?"

"He's a natural, just like you said. Not a single slip-up or lost bracelet."

"Wonderful! So, how soon do you think we can get him in the office?"

P twirled and tugged- first at the reciever's cord, then at his own tie.

"Well, there's the problem, Mr. Afton. Um, Jeremy doesn't want to do the night shift."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and P could hear the quiet scraping of a bottle being opened and liquid being poured into a glass.

"Did he give a reason?"

P scowled, and allowed himself a small eye roll. It wasn't like William would see it, right?

"He's only sixteen, Mr. Afton. I doubt his teachers would appreciate him coming to class on only two hours of sleep." William didn't respond, but P assumed he was taking a frustrated swig. "I-I guess I can ask him about it, but I doubt he'll agree until summer vacation rolls around, if that."

"Well, the sooner the better. Let me know the moment you get an exact answer from him, alright?"

"Yes, sir." He lightly swiveled the chair from side to side. "Was there anything else that you wanted to discuss?"

"That should be it for the night. As long as Smith is there, you're welcome to leave early."

"I- thank you, sir. Any special occasion?"

"Nope. Now get out of there before I change my mind." P couldn't tell if it was a joke or a threat. Regardless, the dial tone on the other end signaled the end of the conversation, leaving P to lean back in the chair and let out a frustrated groan.

"What a jerk." He stood and stretched, preparing to gather his jacket and bag from the break room, when the security system gave a small, one-tone 'blip'- the indicator for detected motion. A small frown crossed his face as he returned to the seat and tapped through the monitors.

At first, he couldn't find what had tripped the alarms. There was no signs of any potential 'guests' who had hidden after closing, and the normal telltale signs of moths or other bugs that could have scurried across the lens were absent as well. It wasn't until he flicked to the prize counter and saw the puppet's pale face looming back at him, black eyes almost glaring through the camera, that he was aware of the difference- not only was the puppet 'awake' past closing, but its right hand was raised slightly.

"P?" He jumped out of the chair, nearly toppling it. Smith was politely standing in the doorway, brow raised. "Something on the cameras?"

"Yeah, uh, does the puppet always do that?"

Smith sat in the chair to peer at the monitor, and P frowned when he heard a laugh. "You don't have to mess with me, man. You know he goes to bed at night."

"I-" P turned to face the monitor, and sure enough, the red and white box was now neatly closed and still, no sign of the animatronic whatsoever. "I swear it was just out of its box. Waving, even."

"Well, if the puppet decides to take a little nighttime stroll, you'll be the first person I call." He playfully punched P's arm. "Listen, you pulled a 12-hour training session with the new guy. You're probably just seeing things. Go home and get some rest, old man."

P frowned. He hated being reminded just how young the other employees were, especially the new guards. While Smith himself was taller than most of his peers, the brightly colored sneakers that were decidedly not dress code compliant paired with his wide, dark eyes and freckled face made him seem even younger. If P remembered correctly, he was only nineteen- a fact that made his heart give a protective clench. He nearly insisted on staying overnight to monitor Smith's training progress, but logic reminded him that he would just be an extra liability if he wound up crashing in the office. _He can handle it_ , P reminded himself, _he's been doing this for months now._

"Yeah, I probably should head home," P finally agreed. He unlocked the door to the right hall and turned to say one last goodnight, when he was caught off guard- once again, over Smith's shoulder, he could see on the monitor that the puppet was peering out from a crack in its box. He paused, before deciding against mentioning it. "Um. Be careful, okay buddy?"

"Will do! Have a good night, P!" Smith gave one last wave before tapping the button to close the door, leaving P alone in the dark.

The narrow hall leading to the break room was lined with posters and notices, and P caught himself once again lingering on the corkboard between the doors to the break room and the restroom. It held the missing children's notices, with eerie sketches and digitally-edited pictures based on descriptions from frantic parents and guardians. The wide grins and rounded cheeks of children were haunting when paired with unnatural eyes and rough approximations of hair, sometimes with brief descriptions and last known locations alongside the phone numbers. The worst of all was the poster of a little girl named Elizabeth Schmidt, who had been on the board since the new location's founding. As the oldest, her illustration had been aged into an attempted recreation of a teenager, but instead fell solidly into the uncanny. She would be thirteen now, he noted, an age where most modern teens had abandoned the pigtails she was depicted with, and despite the artist's best efforts, the eyes and small teeth were obviously taken from a photograph of a young child. The photocopier's ink had also bled while printing her picture out, leaving what was meant to be strawberry blonde hair an almost cartoonish red, and hazel eyes a sickly bright green.

"HAVE YOU SEEN THESE CHILDREN?" the ill-fitting foil letters at the top of the board asked.

P forced himself to pull away from the board and enter the break room, instead busying himself with the keypad on his locker. He recalled a documentary he had seen earlier that month, one that explained that the sketches were so uncanny because they emphasized notable features of the missing individual. Still, he couldn't help but imagine the recreations standing in the shadowed corners, and shiver at the thought- especially when he imagined Elizabeth's glowing green eyes peeking at him from the edges of his vision.

He had meant to ask William about replacing the picture of Elizabeth for some time now, but the one time he had brought it up, William had gone dead silent, and said something about not having the original copy anymore. It was hardly surprising- William barely kept track of some of Fazbear's tax documents, why would he be expected to hold onto the master copy of a random missing kid's photo?

The crackling of the intercom yanked him from his thoughts. "I thought I told you to go to bed, Mr. P."

"And I thought I told you to stop using the intercom for non-emergencies," P retorted playfully to the camera in the corner. He pulled on his coat and elbowed his locker shut in one smooth motion, and made sure to lock the break room door behind him. As he passed again by the security office, he was comforted by the muffled sound of pop music coming from Smith's portable radio. The kid had music, coffee, and a state-of-the-art security system that would let him know if anything moved.

He assured himself that Smith would be fine.

* * *

_She watched, but not like the others._

_The other poor souls were still under the influence of the external devices, programming overwriting memories of their families, friends, loved ones. Even her own recollections, despite being reinforced with over two years of despair, were still being reigned in by some kind of code that attempted to tug her away from her task. Still, she would not be swayed- her physical form was long gone, but she had since prepared for this moment._

_She counted two guards earlier. One had left the building. If the first guard was the phone man, then the other one could only be..._

_She gathered her thoughts, and steeled her will. She could not be distracted by-_

_HAVE YOU SEEN THIS CHILD?_

_Red pigtails, green eyes. A picture blocked her vision._

_"No, I haven't," she attempted to reply. A single, broken chime rang out instead. She peeked out of the box that sat on the shelf of the prize counter, nestled beside a roll of tickets. No counter-song called._

_By the time the music box at the prize counter had clicked on, she was already down the hall facing the office. The gate was wide open, giving her a perfect view of the office itself, and one of the children had apparently preceded her, judging by the quiet way The Bear loomed over the desk. She could see the soft glow of darting orbs around The Bear's face as there was an attempt at remembering, and then-_

_-As quickly as it had happened, it passed. The Bear's code registered the guard's mask as one of their own, and trudged out the door._

_HAVE YOU SEEN THIS CHILD?_

_Red pigtails, green eyes._

_"No," she insisted, "I haven't! I've never-" A short, jerky tune rang out._

_"Hey, you-" A click, and a bright light flooded her vision. "Get out of here!"_

_It wasn't_ his voice, _but she had already thrown herself forward. She wasn't sure what she made impact with, but whatever it was, it crunched._

_From the hallway, Elizabeth's poster fluttered softly to the ground._

_HAVE YOU SEEN THIS CHILD?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter's so short- it's technically just groundwork for the next chapter, so i guess its more like a chapter 2.5?? also i edited it on my phone so i probably missed more than usual


	4. Chapter 3

Michael was wrong about Charlie having an attic room- instead, she had a spacious upstairs bedroom towards the front of the house, window facing the front yard. Where he had imagined posters were instead carefully framed photographs of her family, along with scattered shelves holding clusters of small, porcelain trinkets. The hardwood floor was cool and comforting, and the aged but otherwise undamaged floral wallpaper made her room feel like something from a childhood storybook. The most notable accent of all was the two paintings of bears done in her mother's signature, sweeping watercolors, which hung on either side of her bed; it was a four-poster covered in swathes of pink chiffon curtains that filtered the setting sun's light into soft pastels, covered in a neatly-made pink comforter and a cluster of shimmering silk pillows. 

All in all, it served as a stark contrast to the black oversized tee and ripped jeans that Charlie wore as she laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling. 

"So you're saying that the puppet tackled the night guard?" she asked, skepticism heavy in her voice.

Michael, who sat beside her, nodded. "He _says_ it did, at least. And P believes him- jeez, Charlie, P seems so torn up about the whole thing. I don't think he's going to be coming back for a while, if at all. He went straight from the meeting to the hospital." 

Charlie sat up in surprise. "Smith's _still_ in the hospital? I thought that you said that that it was just a broken arm."

"Compound fracture, he's getting three pins." She let out a low, shocked whistle. "They're even talking about amputating the arm entirely, if the bones don't set right."

"Just how big _is_ that puppet?"

"I don't know, the body is two feet tall? Maybe three? The doctors said it was like having a bowling ball dropped straight on his arm, and-"

They were interrupted by a small knock at Charlie's door, followed by a quiet voice calling, "Charlie? I found your note, what did you want to show me?" Before she could answer, Sammy peered into the room, and glanced from Charlie to Michael in confusion.

It took Michael a moment to recognize the other boy. He hadn't seen Sammy in years, and despite the obvious similarities that came with being twins, Sammy looked otherwise the opposite of Charlie. His trendy square-shaped wire frames, his loose curls that were parted down the middle and trimmed just below his ears, and his brown sweater and cuffed jeans gave off an almost professional appearance, and he didn't stand with Charlie's quiet confidence. He furrowed his brow as he tried to recognize Michael's face, and in turn, Michael braced himself to hear the wrong name.

Charlie thankfully intervened before Sammy could continue.

"Sammy, this is Mike. You know, Liz and Casey's older _brother_." She gave a pointed stare, and when Sammy made the connection, a small light of recognition shone in his eyes.

"Wow, okay! Hi Mike, I haven't seen you in forever! You, uh... You got really tall." He took a seat next to Michael, smile spreading. "So, catch me up- where have you been?"

"You know, facing off with deadly animatronics in a murder trap." Charlie rolled her eyes as Sammy chimed in.

"They're not _deadly_ , they're cute! Anyways, I can't believe Dad's place is still open, I figured it would have been boarded up ages ago." Charlie gave a disgusted scowl.

"New name, new branding. William owns the place now, and he's calling it Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria." Sammy scoffed in return, and Michael had to bite back a laugh- the twins' expressions had synced up yet again, a habit he recalled from their childhood.

"Gross, Will always sucked at naming things. It sounds like some kind of crappy cartoon or something."

Charlie snapped her fingers at the mention of William's name.

"That's right, the pictures! Listen, you guys have to swear not to tell anyone." She solemnly held both pinkies out, with Sammy linking theirs almost instinctively. When Michael stalled, Charlie scrunched her nose in frustration. "Mike. Pinkie promise?" 

"Oh, we're doing that!" He joined in, and they held the position for a moment before Charlie nodded.

"Don't tell Mom, but..."

She reached under her pillow and pulled out a plastic sheet, which held three strips of film. "I found one of Daddy's cameras and developed the film. Mike, these pictures were taken the night that..." She tried to gather her thoughts. "They were taken the night of your 10th birthday. None of the pictures are of the party itself, though."

The first picture would have startled Michael even without context- it was a portrait of Charlie, taken in the dining hall. She was sitting in one of the chairs and blankly staring at the camera, with the flash reflecting her massively dilated pupils red. Her skin was visibly devoid of warmth, and despite how limp she seemed, someone had positioned her arms neatly into her lap and clipped back her bangs with a bow. Behind her, Michael could see the approaching light of Henry's flashlight. Aside from the two, there was nobody else in the photograph to be seen.

"I don't remember this picture being taken, Michael." Her voice was thin, and she had to steady her breathing before continuing. "I don't remember _any_ of these pictures being taken. And if Daddy's in the background, he couldn't have taken the picture. I think..." She trailed off, staring at her hands. Sammy reached over and held one, gently squeezing it.

"Deep breaths, Charls," he encouraged. She nodded, and returned the pressure.

"The last thing I remember is William asking me if I missed Liz. He said that I could bring her back, that I just had to follow him backstage. Michael, I..." She paused only to smooth her hair anxiously, before turning back to the photographs.

The rest of the pictures made even less sense. The first two were unnervingly close pictures of Fredbear and Spring's faces, both of which were followed by similar shots with the faceplates lifted, exposing the endoskeletons. The other photographs, one each of the various rooms and halls, offered no further answers. It was the last photograph, of the backstage office, that made Charlie gasp so harshly that she choked.

"No, no, it's her. It's her, it's- She's still there."

"Who, Charlie?"

Still struggling to recapture her breath, she pointed to the center of the photograph with one hand as she fumbled in her pocket for the other.

There was a vague white blur in the upper right corner, surrounded by flickering purple orbs. Initially, Michael thought that it could have been a streak of stray light that happened to look like a twist of fabric, but it wasn't until she pulled out the Afton family photo with trembling hands that he and Sammy fully realized what they were looking at. It was the twirling of Elizabeth's skirt mirrored in translucent black and white over the pictures of the backroom, as if she'd bolted past the camera mid-shot. They sat in stunned silence, before Michael spoke. 

"It could just be double exposure," he weakly suggested. "The film is pretty old." 

Charlie didn't respond, staring in horror at the final photograph where it laid on top of the family portrait. When Michael rested a hand on her shoulder, she didn't move- it was as if she was totally unaware of anything other than the film.

Sammy's voice cracked, breaking the silence. "I have some notes that I can look over. Most of the blueprints are almost unreadable- it's all shorthand and acronyms- but if I can find Dad's books, I should be able to figure out what most of them mean. I'll go grab them."

"Thank you," Michael responded. Sammy awkwardly stood up, and gave a final, sympathetic smile to Charlie before leaving the room. She let out a shaky sigh when the door closed, and flinched when Michael placed something small and metal in her hand.

"Um. You dropped this at the skate park that night," Michael explained. "I wanted to fix it before returning it to you, but like you said, Fazbear's is probably dangerous. If I don't come back-"

She clenched the locket in a fist and set her jaw. Michael had seen her expression once before, but on Henry's face rather than hers- it was the face he had made when an animatronic was being particularly finicky with repairs, when a gear had to be kicked rather than gently placed back in position or a jaw had to be given a little extra grease to release.

"You're going to come back, stupid." She shoved at his arm playfully, despite the lack of a smile. "You have to come back."

Michael smiled back. " _When_ I get back, then. I want to borrow your locket so that I can fix it." He didn't expect her short, barking laugh.

"You know that I can do it myself, right?" She pointed at a few links that Michael hadn't noticed before- small, unevenly sized silver and copper links among the original gold pieces. "You don't tug at a necklace for half a decade without pulling it loose at least once."

He watched the steady way her thumbnail rhythmically ran up and down the links with fascination. "That makes sense." He paused for a moment, before suggesting, "You know, Freddy's is closed for tonight. Cleanup, insurance paperwork, all that stuff. Would it help if I stayed the night?"

"Sure. You go ask my mom, I'll catch up." 

"You sure?" She nodded absently. "Hey. Charlie." When she didn't look up, he sharply suggested, "Stop thinking about it. You're just upsetting yourself." 

"I'm trying to figure something out," she lied, but Michael had already left the room and padded downstairs.

The living room was mostly bathed in the deep blue of the night sky, save for a single lamp that illuminated the large coffee table in the center of the room. The couch, an overstuffed antique with worn leather, had been pushed slightly back to make room for the matriarch of the Emily household to mull over a large, unframed canvas, one paintbrush held delicately between her lips. Lorraine Emily had long since earned the gray streaks that marbled her hair, and they stood out like bolts of lightning among the neat braids that she had pulled back into a ponytail. Despite having changed into pajamas for the night, she had clearly been hard at work, considering the small droplets of blue paint that flecked the wrists of the sleeves. Her delicate hands were in the process of neatly rolling up one of the dozens of canvases that had since dried, and as the scene of rabbits hiding in a hutch was bundled and tied with twine, Michael stood nervously in the doorway. 

"Mrs. Emily?" 

She jumped, and gave a shocked yell when she saw Michael. A thrown paintbrush hit the wall next to his head, and it wasn't until he politely retrieved and handed her the brush that she let out a relieved sigh.

"Michael." She smiled apologetically, pressing a hand to her chest. "Goodness, you startIed me. Are you headed home?"

He tried to mimic her pleased expression in a way that didn't resemble what he'd nicknamed his father's 'car salesman grin'. "Actually, Ms. Emily, I was wondering if I could stay the night." 

Her warm demeanor dropped. "Does William know you're here?"

"No ma'am."

"Do you want him to?"

Despite the simplicity of the question, it caught Michael off guard. He thoughtfully tugged at his bangs as he studied Lorraine's face- while he couldn't see any malice in her frown, he could see an underlying vigilance in the now-permanent creases around her mouth.

"Of course not." The tension in her shoulders seemed to vanish immediately.

"Don't worry, Michael. If he calls, you're not here. Do you want to go get a change of clothes, at least? If not, Sammy should have something you can borrow."

He didn't bother telling her that Sammy was nearly a whole head taller than him, or that the texture of his sweater looked like hell on earth. "No ma'am, I'm fine. Thank you."

She reached out to ruffle his hair, laughing. "Michael, you can speak freely here. Nobody's going to yell at you." For a moment it seemed like he was going to latch onto her with a tight hug, but the moment passed, and he stayed firmly in the doorway. "I'll be down here if you need anything, alright? My bedroom door is at the end of the hall." She peered over Michael's shoulder, and playfully added, "Goodnight, you three!" 

He turned to see Charlie and Sammy, sheepishly standing at the top of the stairs. 

"Thank you, mom!" Sammy smiled, before gesturing for Michael to follow. As the three raced up the stairs, Charlie asked, 

"So whose room do you want to stay in? We're all sleeping in the same room, so don't worry about that. We just have to figure out where to put the air mattress."

He paused. He hadn't seen Sammy's room yet, but knowing what they had just witnessed in Charlie's room, he wasn't sure he would want to step foot in it for some time. 

"If it's cool, can we sleep in Sammy's?" 

Sammy punched the air in excitement.

"Yes! I told you, Charls-"

Charlie scoffed, but quietly seemed relieved. "I guess we can chill in the Dweeb Zone for a bit. I'll get my pillows from my room, Sammy hoards all the extras." 

"Don't tell him that!" Sammy insisted. 

"You know, you're not saying that you _don't_ steal the guest pillows," Michael noted. 

"Well duh, I need them for my back. I'm no liar." Sammy opened the door to his room. "Anyways, like Mom said, the pajamas are in the bottom drawer to the right. I'll be right back, I'm going to go help Charlie!"

With that, Michael stood alone in the bedroom. Like Charlie's, there was traces of the house's vintage beauty, but in Sammy's room, diagrams and charts punctuated with small notes from Henry smothered out most of the floral wallpaper. A star chart was tacked to the ceiling above his bed, where a messy pile of comforters and pillows threatened to spill onto the floor. A dresser stood next to the closet, and housed a small radio alarm clock, as well as the blueprints and notes. In one corner of the room, half-covered by a stack of books, was an assortment of teddy bears, with a near-invisible glimmer of something metal underneath. He briefly considered pulling the books aside and further examining the pile, when the door abruptly slammed against the wall, making him jump. 

"Still couldn't find anything?" Charlie asked. Whatever Sammy had said to Charlie had pulled her out of her stupor, and she was eagerly helping him haul the armfuls of supplies- Sammy had the folded air mattress as well as another comforter, while Charlie carried her own pillows and blankets, as well as the pump for the mattress. 

"I didn't feel like looking," Michael confessed. 

"That's okay," Sammy assured him, heading to the dresser. "Here, I'll grab some pajamas for you if you'll help Charlie set up the bed." 

* * *

The borrowed flannel pajamas were only barely too long for Michael, but it was enough to make him uncomfortable, even after rolling up the sleeves.

The room was lit by the single night light by the door, and the steady rising and falling breaths from the bed indicated that Charlie had fallen asleep. While Sammy laid perfectly still beside him on the air mattress, Michael could tell by his fingertips tapping at the floor that he was just as unable to get rest. The alarm clock's red numbers glowed half past midnight, and the soothing breeze flowing in through the cracked window made the room feel almost dreamlike.

"Sammy?" 

"Yeah, Mike?" He rolled over and slid his glasses on before sitting up, and Michael had to bite back a laugh at his bleary expression combined with the way his curls stuck slightly to his cheek. "What's up, can't sleep?"

"No, not really." Michael rose as well, and pointed to the pile of bears. "So what's up with the weird bear corner?" 

Sammy gestured for him to follow as he crawled to the corner, occasionally stopping to check and ensure that Charlie was still fast asleep. "It's embarrassing," he quietly admitted, "But it's a gift from dad. It's a girl thing, but because it's from him..." 

Michael considered the jewelry box on his own desk, given to him by his mother for a birthday. "I get what you mean." 

The 'metal' Michael had seen was actually iridescent vinyl that covered a small music box, giving it the illusion of being a transparent rectangular prism. Rather than a latch, it closed with two magnets that held the lid shut, even furthering the illusion of a perfectly smooth surface. When Sammy cracked it open, two internal shelves folded out, forming a small three-tiered stage. While the two other slots were missing their dancers, a figure of a ballerina on a spring popped up in the middle, dressed in a shimmering blue uniform. Michael never got to see her dance, though, as Sammy's fingers flew to pinch the small ballerina into place.

"It'll play music if you let the ballerina spin," he explained, motioning to Charlie's place on the bed. "But yeah, I cover it with my bears when my other friends come to stay the night. I used to keep it at the top of my closet, but it fell down and one of the hinges came loose. I don't want it getting messed up any more, so."

He carefully closed the box and tucked it back in place, contemplating his words before speaking again. "It's not _that_ girly, I guess, but..." Sammy returned to the air mattress, and let out a sigh. "I just want them to take me seriously." 

Michael laid down as well, facing Sammy. "And they don't?" 

"They sort of do, but it's always 'Charlie's brother' this and 'your dad made Fredbear' that. Nobody ever asks me about..." He vaguely gestured towards the ceiling. "The stars. I could name every constellation that's currently visible right now, but who's going to know that?" 

"Well, now that I do, I want to hear you do it." 

Sammy froze. "Do what?" 

"Tell me about the stars," Michael insisted. "If I ever decide to get wild and go stargazing, I want to know what I'm looking at. I only know ursa major, and that's because Charlie told me about it." 

Sammy tried and failed to restrain the smile that bloomed. "You're not pulling my leg, are you? Like, this isn't a joke?" 

Michael firmly nodded, before hesitantly adding, "I'll swear on Casey that it's not a joke." 

The room went totally silent, the weight of what Michael had said bearing down on them both, before Sammy cleared his throat.

"Wow, um, it's not that serious. Thanks though. We'll have to go to the porch to get a good view, it's kind of cloudy but we should be fine." Sammy scrambled to his feet, and his hands were already outstretched to help Michael stand before he could even toss the blankets off of him. 

"I mean, you seem to be taking it pretty seriously." He let Sammy pull him upwards, and laughed as he stumbled awkwardly over where the pants' legs hung over his ankles. "Are you gonna throw me down the stairs to get there faster, too?" 

"Maybe." Sammy's eyes gleamed playfully, and he held Michael's wrist as he gently tugged him to the stairs. "C'mon, before Charlie wakes up!" 

When they got to the porch, Michael saw an immediate problem. The street lights that dotted the road in front of their house cast enough light to wash out the sky, only the brightest stars visible. He stared in confusion.

"There's so much light, how are we gonna see anything?" Sammy's snickering further baffled him.

"Well, I know plenty about the stars, but you're never going to see any of them out here." It took Michael a moment to catch onto the joke, but once he did, he laughed and good-naturedly elbowed Sammy.

"Hey, you said you weren't a liar!"

"And that sounds like something someone telling the truth would say?" Sammy was grinning along with him, but let out a sigh as he sat on the steps. "Anyways. I wanted to talk to you about something, and Dad always took me to the porch for serious talks." He shrugged.

"Wow, no pressure whatsoever." Michael sat beside him, left foot tapping anxiously. "So what's up?" 

"Well, I haven't seen you since we were like, seven. And a lot has obviously changed," Sammy explained, gesturing vaguely at Michael. "I know it sounds crazy, but I really missed you." 

Michael frowned. "Really? I mean, it feels like we hung out all the time. Sure it's been a while, but before that we spent every weekend together." 

"Yeah, but we never talked like you and Charlie did. Don't get me wrong, you came to all my birthdays and stuff, but you and Charls? Oh my gosh, you guys were inseparable. And when you and your friends started the mask thing, I... It's embarrassing, but I made a mask of my own. I wanted it to match Charlies, so I just traced hers and colored it." He trailed off, burying his face in his hands. "It was so bad, I colored it with a highlighter and made it out of paper plates." 

"Why didn't you ask me?" Michael asked. "We would have let you have one, too." 

"But would you have?" Sammy frowned. "Be real, there was only four masks, and Charlie was the one willing to sneak out and break rules. I was too much of a chicken to do any of that." 

"I'm sorry," Michael answered, but the underlying sentiment was clearly _'You're right'_. He found himself staring at the sky, watching the clouds refract the streetlamp's light, and shifted uneasily. He hadn't anticipated seeing any stars, but he had assumed that the sky would be at least somewhat clear.

"It's alright." Sammy sighed. "I'm glad she did it, anyways. We would have lost contact with you otherwise." 

Michael's heart dropped. "Why?" 

"After Dad's accident, Mom didn't want us anywhere near William, and by extension, you. The only reason she let you come over is because you're Charlie's best friend- if it was anybody else from Fazbear's, mom would have slammed the door in your face."

"So what changed her mind?" 

"The night shift? Mike, I know you don't have the best home life, but there's no way you think a kid your age staying overnight in a pizzeria for work is normal." 

Michael shrugged. "It's part of the job, I figured," he weakly offered. 

"That's dumb, Mike. Look, something's up with you, and you don't have to talk about it. I just want you to know that... you deserve better, I guess." 

Michael nodded, visibly touched.

"Thanks, Sammy. You do too." 

They both leaned back against the steps, and turned to the skies.

They watched the breeze roll the clouds further into the sky as they cast rapidly shifting shadows onto the moon, ignoring the chill of the air. The rains heralding spring had started weeks ago, so when the first few droplets threatening sleet dotted the porch, it hardly came as a surprise.

"Okay, it's too cold out here," Michael complained. "Do you wanna go back inside and actually try to get some sleep?" 

"Sure."

* * *

_The sterile scent of bleach hung heavy on the air, and the security office sat silent, doors locked firmly from the outside. A generator hummed in some far corner of the building, keeping the lights a low, soft blue, and the animatronics onstage stood with their heads drooped slightly, as if they had dozed mid-song. Twinkling silver stars hung over the prize counter, and the only sound in the room was a slight rustle as a box quietly rattled in the empty building._

_There was a guest._

_The newcomer had chosen to reside in one of the moth-gnawed and weathered animatronics, a bulky hen with a lace-trimmed apron that was rendered practically to cheesecloth with age. She had been terrified upon her awakening, and the disembodied screams still resonated through the empty halls as the box behind the prize counter finally came loose, springs popping as the lid was forced open._

_The puppet was aware of what she had to do, and she made her way backstage. Despite the joints in her hands now being tacky with a strange, shimmering liquid that gleamed rainbow under the spotlights, she still deftly did her job and reassembled._

_Upon completion, a single lavender iris rolled, and the hen's speaker let out a metallic groan. She was trying to speak._

Don't worry _, the puppet reassured. Her words rang clear now, without the interference of the music box. She now knew her purpose; she was now aware of what had to be done to put them to rest._

I will restore you. I will give you life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay WOW im actually getting comments? i have comment moderation enabled so if you've left a comment, just know i've read it and (so far) appreciate all of them, even if i post w/out replying! sometimes i just don't know what to say aside from 'thank you' :-)
> 
> also sorry in advance if the pacing for this chapter is weird, i had to edit it almost entirely on mobile- i'll do some touchups when i have time to sit down with my laptop and properly edit!


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